


A Warmer Place

by Kikimay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Harry back at it again with the Draco stalking, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kikimay
Summary: Harry has nightmares about fire and he likes to keep an eye on Malfoy.





	A Warmer Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/gifts).



> Many thanks to Z for her alpha reading of the story, M and T for their toughtful beta work. Any other mistake is all mine. 
> 
> I really hope Writcraft will enjoy this, I know it was a bit cathartic for me. I tried to interpret the idea of "coming out"/"coming of age" in a different way.

 

 

The room isn’t always dark. Only when a patient requests it, when he wants the wide silky curtains to obscure the sunlight coming from the windows.

From time to time, Harry wants that.

*

Azkaban is cold, its walls damp and bare. Despite the recent banishment of the Dementors – their magic only limited to the lowest levels of the prison – wind and rain lull incessantly among the corridors and outside the cells. So often the inmates flatten themselves against the corner of their beds, white blankets wrapped against trembling shoulders.

Draco Malfoy has a grey blanket. He looks pale and emaciated, his chin almost too pointy for his face, his long fingers bony. But his blanket is grey, just like his eyes.

*

Harry asks for the darkness. It’s easier to talk about his feelings that way, to reveal his most intimate states of mind, the ones he should feel ashamed to talk about or cry about. He still can hear the inflexible, harsh voice of aunt Petunia mocking his weakness and sentimentality. ‘ _A foolish boy like you deserves nothing_ ’. Sometimes it’s too much to bear and he’s grinding his teeth and clenching his fists tightly to avoid screaming.

The Mind Healer says that he’s allowed to scream, though.

She’s a middle aged witch, probably in her fifties. She wears elegant dresses and important necklaces with huge stones or pearls. Her hair is short and wavy and she never seems surprised by what Harry has to say, even the most upsetting things in his mind.

She always smiles at the beginning of a session and, for some reason, Harry doesn’t see mockery in her eyes, only understanding.

It makes him feel accepted.

*

In the empty Azkaban cells, Draco clutches to his grey blanket and to the weekly book they allow him to read. His eyes run on the page, his blond fringe pushed aside.

*

Mind healing is ridiculous but effective, just as Hermione had argued. After all she’s almost always right.

Healer Reismen smiles and takes a deep breath, encouraging Harry to do the same. She put her hands on her lap and waits.

“I keep having the usual nightmares,” Harry confesses after a while. “I’m doing well at work and my friends are always brilliant and I feel fine, really. I am.”

“But you’re having nightmares.”

“I am,” he admits with a resigned sigh. “I keep seeing people … disappearing behind veils or getting bit by snakes. I feel my ears ringing, my wrists crushing under weight and fire burning. I wake up in the middle of the night, shaking. I wish I was stronger than this.”

“You seem strong to me, Harry. You have these horrible dreams, a disrupted sleeping pattern that constantly tires you, and you manage to perform well at work as well as present for your friends.”

“They are the ones that are there for me, really … but I know. I know what you mean.”

Healer Reismen smiles again, softly.

“I would like to talk about the fire dreams, if you want to.”

“Why those in particular?”

“You never mentioned them before. You told me about the veil, the snakes, the weight. Never about the fire. It could be interesting to understand.”

“I must have dreamed about it before, I must have … I told you about the Room of Requirement, right?”

“You did,” she replies. “You told me that there was a fire during the Battle of Hogwarts. A fellow student conjured Fiendfyre, probably in a mistaken attempt to defy you and your friends, and that escalated and burned the entire room. You and your friends barely survived. The boy who conjured the Fiendfyre died, unfortunately. It must have been terrible to witness his death.”

“It was,” Harry confessed. “I think … it was. I don’t remember it well though. My memories from that night are full of screams and pleas.”

*

Malfoy announces his presence by knocking at the door twice. It’s almost a pointless gesture, since Harry’s office is always open during the working hours, especially when his task is to check on released inmates and see if they are respecting the terms of parole.

It’s an elegant gesture, that symbolises Malfoy’s need to have control over his own life. His need to regain spaces and dominion over his actions. Harry respects that, and he’s pleased because it’s a clear signal of a positive attitude.

He smiles and nods politely, indicating the wooden chair in front of his desk.

*

“It must have been very traumatic for you. Seeing a fellow student die in such a horrible way, almost dying yourself with your beloved friends …”

“That’s not everything.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s something I haven’t mentioned here before,” Harry starts and stares at the table in front of him. There’s a white bowl full of grey stones. “We weren’t alone in the Room. I mean, besides me, Hermione, Ron and Crabbe, the guy who died. There were two other people, Hogwarts students just like us. One of them is called Goyle and the other … the other was Draco Malfoy.”

*

Draco usually wears a long black coat with black trousers. A scarf, simple yet elegant, and gloves. His hair is longer, chin leight, and a bit wavy on the edges. It suits him well, makes him look more mature, softer. It compliments his beautiful neck.

Harry has never made a case over the beauty of Malfoy’s neck, but he probably missed something. Malfoy’s neck is elongated and pale. Graceful, beautiful, no other words for describing it.

*

“You must have read about him in the papers,” Harry says. “His father, Lucius Malfoy, was a bit popular back then and his mother …”

“I would rather hear about Draco from you,” Healer Reismen replies, determined but still with unfailing kindness. “How do you remember him, and what do you remember about Draco during that time?”

“What I remember about him is … not very interesting, I suppose. We were the same age, sorted Gryffindor and Slytherin, rivals on the Quidditch field and generally during school hours. He was a ponce back then, unpleasant and irritating. We hated each other even before him taking the Dark Mark. And that’s it.”

“And what do you recall about the fire? How did he behave?”

“Scared and cowardly as ever. I remember him running among the furnishing after his mate had set fire to everything, I remember him climbing on the chairs and grabbing his friend’s hand and never letting him go.”

“He tried to save the boy who died?”

“No, well … both. Crabbe and Goyle, his friends. He tried to save Crabbe too, I believe, and then saved Goyle by holding his hand on the top of the furnishing. When me and Ron came back to rescue them – we were on the brooms – when we came back, he was the reason Goyle was still alive and not burning like their other mate. Draco saved his life.”

“That was brave of him.”

Harry raises his chin.

“Yeah, it was,” he murmured, processing his own thought. “If it weren’t for Draco … and then I saved him, by letting him on my broom. He held me so tightly it hurt.”

“I see,” the Healer replied, tilting her head.

*

Malfoy has lovely hands. The freezing cold of Azkaban damaged his delicate skin which now looks rougher, but his fingers are still pleasantly long and his nails immaculate. He hides them under gloves too much in Harry’s opinion.

He also sits on the edge of the chair, as if he’s always waiting to run away. That makes Harry inexplicably sad. He wishes Draco would feel differently about him and his job.

“Your magic track shows that you didn’t move from the perimeter and you didn’t appear in places you aren’t suppose to go. It’s all good and lawful.”

“Can I go then?”

Harry looks up from his paperwork and frowns, uncertain.

“I know you don’t like this, but it’s my job to make sure everything is normal and I promise that you will be rewarded for your good behavior. The parole won’t last forever and you’ll be a free wizard again.”

Malfoy nods, folds his hands on his lap, pushing a bit backwards in the chair.

“Also,” Harry continues, trying to find his voice again. “I need to make sure you’re doing okay emotionally. It may not seem so, but I care about your well-being and my job is to help you, really.”

“The Ministry doesn’t want a return of the Dark Arts infatuation, right?”

Harry’s mouth drops open and then the unthinkable happens, Malfoy laughs.

“I’m just kidding, Potter! I was just taking the piss! I mean, look at us now: the terrible dark wizard just released from Azkaban and the diligent Auror who must keep him in line. So much for our childish ambitions, don’t you think?”

Harry smiles back.

“I guess so,” he says. “I just need to … you’re doing good and you’re going to be fine, Draco. I promise you.”

Draco nods, polite as ever.

*

The Healer looks at him cautiously, moves a strand of brown hair from her face.

“And so, you had a nightmare about the deadly power of the Fiendfyre, the destruction of it.”

“Yes!” Harry mutters, as that was the most obvious thing to answer.

Healer Riesmen presses two fingers on her lips.

“But this, you see, makes me wonder. You always spoke about fire in such a positive way.”

“Of Fiendfyre?”

“Oh no!” she giggles and Harry smiles back, amused. “You, Harry, have a very symbolic imagery in your dreams and you associate fire to protection, affection. Fire is the shade of Ron’s hair, the Floo that used to show you Sirius’ face, the feeling of Hermione holding you in a hug. Fire is the antithesis of the coldness your aunt Petunia always gave to you.”

“Oh.”

“What’s interesting, in my opinion, is why such a good symbol in your subconscious becomes dangerous and scary.”

“I … I don’t know … I …”

“You don’t have to worry,” she reassures him immediately. “I’m here for you.”

*

After leaving the Auror office, Malfoy heads to the secondary entrance of Ministry. He goes down the road and reaches a small Chinese restaurant. He orders ramen sautéed with vegetables and meat, a plate of lemon shrimp with mixed vegetables and spicy sauce, and spring rolls.

He eats in silence, with methodical carefulness. He starts by dividing the ramen into three equal portions to be consumed along with the shrimp.

His lips become shinier and rosier as he eats. Malfoy cleans them with a white paper napkin.

*

“How’s Ginevra?”

Harry raises his head, stares at the Healer in disbelief.

“Ginny? Why do you ask? What …”

“You used to associate fire with her too, if I remember correctly,” she replies, unplussed. “If you’re not comfortable discussing her with me at the moment, we can stop.”

Harry takes a big breath, closes his eyes.

“It’s not … I’m not uncomfortable talking about Ginny. I feel that she … belongs in the past in some way. I saw her at the Burrow on Sunday. She was looking great.”

Healer Riesmen smiles.

“Still fierce and beautiful?”

“Yes,” Harry smiles back. “Yes, she is. She’s going out with Dean again and really killing it with the Harpies. I like her.”

“She makes you feel warm.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like … it’s not that sort of fire anymore, you know? I thought she was, but I discovered later that she wasn’t and … I don’t think she changed at all. She’s still the same, maybe it’s just me. I’m _different_.”

The Healer presses a finger against her lips, pondering something.

“Did you have nightmares about fire after being at the Burrow?” she asks.

Harry shakes his head.

“No, not after the Burrow … I think on Monday.”

“Tell me about Monday.”

*

Once a week, on Friday, Malfoy makes a change on his usual menu of three meals. He orders dessert.

Sometimes, tiramisu covered in whipped cream. More often than not a single circular portion of chocolate cake. He breaks the crust with the spoon and enjoys the flow of hot chocolate pouring on the plate.

He eats it slowly, closing his eyes, almost drowned in a secret memory.

*

“This past Monday we had to report of the case of jinxed letters. It was a bit of a mess and I don’t like the reporting part of the job …”

“You love the action.”

Harry grins.

“I don’t look out for trouble, I really don’t. But I don’t understand the necessity of documenting every single thing we ever thought or done on a case. That’s pointless! Actions are important, what we do to help other people. So, there was that and … later we had to see the released prisoners of Azkaban, check on their parole terms.”

“Do you like that aspect of your job more? In that case, you’re interacting with wizards who need your help and guidance too.”

“They do, I … do, I suppose. One of them … one of the released wizards is Draco Malfoy.”

Healer Reismen doesn’t reply, she waits for Harry to continue his tale.

“He looks good, like he’s really trying to find his place into the Wizarding World back again. He looks different too, in a way that … I used to check on him at Azkaban too. We spent all our Hogwarts years despising each other, but in the end, during the war, I had the feeling he wasn’t that different from me. And I felt pity for him. He had Voldemort in his house and was forced to Crucio people by him …”

“That’s horrible.”

“It was. I saw everything because … because of my Horcrux, the part of Tom Riddle I had inside me. I saw him torture helpless wizards and I felt his pain, his misery. Later, when the process was over, and Draco was sentenced to Azkaban, I felt the need to check on him. Not always, just sometimes. Just to be sure he was doing well, decently at least. He was just a boy when the war happened, forced to act by older, more powerful wizards and I had to promise his mother, Narcissa.”

“The witch who saved you in the Forest.”

“Exactly!” Harry replies. “She lied to Voldemort so I could enter Hogwarts’ grounds and win the war. She did that for her son and I owe her my loyalty and my … care for Draco.”

Healer Reismen thinks for a moment, her eyes look distant.

“May I ask if you devote the same amount of time to other students incarcerated? The great trail didn’t condemn just Draco Malfoy, although I admit that his family’s hearing was a sensation. You also knew others who were condemned and did you see them in Azkaban too?”

Harry shakes his head, his cheeks suddenly flushed.

“I can’t say I did, no.”

“I understand,” the Healer says, and smiles.

*

On a Wednesday afternoon, after leaving the Ministry, Draco runs along the long road that leads to a small cinema entrance.

Harry follows him, carefully minding his own moves, quiet in the shadows.

Draco buys a single ticket for the afternoon projection and a small cup of beverage. He sits in the third row left, far away from the giggling teenagers climbing on the red velvet seats. Harry stays on his feet, on the opposite side of the room.

The film is about two poets, an older and a younger one. They were famous, Harry thinks, he must have heard something about them from Hermione, but he can’t really remember. The younger one is blond, cruel and beautiful, Harry thinks Draco must recognise himself in the character, he craves greatness and to experience all that the world has to offer. He seduces the older poet and the camera with his every move. The older poet, completely and evidently besotted by him, cowardly searches for his warmth while still harbouring desires of mediocrity and fooling his young wife. Harry hates him with all his heart.

When the kissing scene happens, the room is strangely quiet, except for the loud smooches coming from the teenagers’ side – they are already working on the sex part. The younger poet looks more beautiful than ever, his lips softer. It’s inevitable for the older man to crumble to his desire, Harry thinks as he feels his groin bursting with electricity.

He looks at Draco and studies his profile, the trembling of his chin as his pupils capture the image happening on the screen. What is he feeling now? Whom is he imagining?

Harry runs away, scalded.

*

“What do Purebloods think of homosexuality?”

“The Purebloods?” Healer Reismen asks, frowning.

Harry presses his sweaty palms against his jeans and nods.

“Yes, I need to know. I think … Ron told me that most families are accepting of homosexuality, but some of them aren’t especially if they were involved with the dark magic and such. I need more information.”

Healer Reismen presses a finger against her lips, then answers.

“Your friend Ron is right, homosexuality is accepted in the Wizarding World, although it wasn’t always like that. As all matters, time and traditions are crucial to define the way of perceiving them and, as much as we pride ourselves to be separated from Muggles madness isn’t that always so,” she sighs. “You see, when Voldemort rose to power for the first time and even later, when you were fighting against him, he had a strong policy about purity of blood and the pursuance of the Wizarding community.”

“He didn’t want Muggleborn as much as Half-bloods, I know that.”

“He didn’t want Pureblood wizards to marry Muggleborn partners, but he wanted the Wizarding community to expand and prosper. He wanted more Purebloods children to expand our ranks, so to speak, and let us become a larger, more powerful group. Foolish dreams of a mad man, but his instance about homosexuality for the families following his teachings were clear. No Pureblood heir could avoid his duty.”

“Having children?” Harry asks.

“Having children with proper heritage, yes. As if it was even possible, but I reckon that you know that better than me. Still, that answers your question, I believe.”

Harry doesn’t reply, he turns around looking wounded.

“What,” he starts, pauses, continues. “What would happen if a member of a Pureblood family, an heir, wasn’t fit for marriage?”

“He would be forced, I suppose,” the Healer replies. “Having children as an exercise of duty isn’t a foreign concept in any culture.”

“But that would be stupid …and cruel.”

“Yes, I agree.”

*

Draco knocks on the office door, waits for the welcoming nod and steps toward the chair in front of the Auror’s desk. He seats down gently. He’s wearing his long black coat, a grey scarf and burgundy gloves. His hair, a bit wavier and the neck, is longer than before, still impossibly blond and soft.

“Good morning, Auror Potter,” he says, an hint of mischief in his voice.

“Good morning to you, Draco.”

There’s the busy browsing of papers, Harry trying to look professional and pretending to read and check and care for meaningless words when he already knows what he’s going to say. It pains him, this moment as it arrives. He should be happy.

“I asked for you to come because … _because it’s done.”_

“Done?” Draco inquires, puzzled.

“Your parole, your trying period. You passed the test, Draco, you are a free wizard again.”

The Slytherin arches his eyebrows.

“Oh! Oh … I see.”

“You’re allowed to feel happy!” Harry murmurs, encouraging. “You respected all the rules and behaved properly. You proved to be trustworthy to this community and his inhabitants, you proved to be trustworthy to me. I’m going to file the formal request for your definitive discharge and it will be operative immediately. You are completely free now, Draco.”

“Oh,” he sighs softy, his mouth curving in an incredulous smile that widens and widens. “I didn’t think this day would come! I didn’t …”

“I’m glad for you, I truly am.”

Draco smiles at him and his eyes are full of such unspeakable joy, brighter than anything Harry has ever seen.

“So I will come here tomorrow and …”

“There’s no coming tomorrow or ever,” Harry explains. “You’re completely free now and you don’t owe me or this Ministry, for that matter, anything. You don’t need to justify your actions anymore, you don’t have to come.”

“Not again … not ever?”

“Not ever,” Harry echoes.

Suddenly all the light in Draco’s eyes wanes, his smile succumbs.

“Draco, I …” Harry starts, raising a hand.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t expect … I don’t think I’m used to freedom anymore. I liked to come in here.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Surely you are,” Draco replies, fixing the folds on his gloves. “Surely you are.”

*

“I dreamt of the frozen lake, the locket choking me, the water so cold …”

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Surely you are.”

Healer Reismen comes closer to her patient, she kneels in front of him.

“You stopped having dreams about the lake long ago …”

“And now they are back again!” Harry snaps, full of rage and bitterness. “My fucking nights are haunted by memories of pain and past losses and here I try to make it better!”

“You’re making it better.”

“Am I now?”

“Harry …”

The rage subsides, Harry clenches his trembling fists on his knees and the Healer presses her warm palms upon them, caressing the skin.

“You are,” she insists, calming and comforting.

Harry hides his eyes in shame.

“Don’t feel ashamed, Harry,” she immediately says, intercepting his gaze. “There’s no shame in this room, we established that. Didn’t we?”

“Yes, yes, but …”

“So many people hurt you in the past, it’s only natural that you seek solace. You were just a boy, an innocent boy, wounded and hurt and mocked. You deserved better.”

“I still remember when my aunt Petunia … when she made me wash the dishes with cold water because I didn’t deserve …”

“What? What did she say to you? How did she lie?” Healer Reismen’s hands are still upon his own. “You can cry if you want to.”

“… I didn’t deserve the warmth!” Harry confesses, sobbing. He raises his wet face for a moment, then sags again. “I didn’t deserve the warmth, can you believe that?”

“I can’t believe how cruelly she treated you, her own nephew. I know that you deserve warmth and you’re full of it.”

Harry raises his chin. He’s behaving like a little boy, he knows that, like he never behaved in all his life, but Healer Reismen doesn’t seem irritated by it, her brown eyes are understanding.

“Sometimes, people who are cruel do a fine job in spotting the other’s hidden desires; they transform these desires as weaknesses, but that’s their doing. It only reveals the viciousness of their behaviour, not the culpability of our desires, who are good and true and the things that carry us through life. I hope you can understand these words, Harry.”

“I think I can …”

“I hope you will.”

*

Harry spots him near the second entrance for the Ministry, follows him, long jacket fluttering in the storm. He blocks him in an underpass, away from the raging storm.

“Draco! What were you doing there? Don’t you know that …”

“That I’m a free wizard now, I know!” Malfoy sputters, turning from him. His coat is dripping wet, his hair curlier. “At least you said so, but apparently that means I can’t come closer to the Ministry, for whatever reason! And here I thought I could go anywhere!”

“You can, you should!” Harry insists, wet hair pressing against his forehead, glasses foggy. “But you shouldn’t come in here hoping for … what? My job is done. You should find yourself a place, some friends!”

“Because that’s so easy for a former Death Eater just released from Azkaban!”

“I didn’t say that, but what were you even thinking? That I could be your friend?”

Draco’s eyes widen, his face looking ashen as if he was hit by a sudden curse. Harry processes his words too late.

“I’m …”

“Don’t say it!” the Slytherin bites back. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, you bloody Scarhead! I should have known better, I should had never trusted you to understand, you moron!”

Harry pushes himself foward, tries to grab Draco’s arm but the other wizard is faster and escapes his hold, raises his wand.

“You can’t do this, Draco! You just got released!”

“I can always go back!” he replies, paler and trembling, hiding his fear without success. “I’m sure that they will be pleased to see me again!” he giggles, morosely.

“Don’t,” Harry replies, staring at him.

Draco’s lips curls in a disgusted grimace. He lowers his wand.

“Damn you, bloody Potter! The bane of my existence, that’s what you are!” he mutters, clenching his fists.

“That’s what I am, true. Always there to piss you off, Draco Malfoy. Couldn’t imagine my life being different, you know?”

Draco frowns, taking a step back.

“Don’t do this Harry,” he whispers. “Please, don’t.”

“Do what?”

“Be charming, behave as if … I wouldn’t be strong enough to say no to you, I couldn’t …”

Harry searches for Draco’s eyes, wanting him closer, wanting him to answer a question he can feel inside but never had the chance to truly understand, about what he wanted, what he truly desired. _Maybe …_

“Harry don’t,” he gasps and disappears, leaving the other hanging in the storm.

*

“I don’t know why everything feels so hopeless now. I could have told him to stay. Why haven’t I?” Harry asks, pressing his entwined hands against his forehead. The room is comfortably dark. “I started talking and I didn’t think about the consequences, I never do.”

“What consequences? The imaginary punishments of our upbringing?” Healer Reismen continues for him. “The memory of your uncle and aunt’s bigot teachings? Or the idea of death, always pressing closer, always pushing you a step further, never allowing you to be yourself, to discover yourself? To breathe.”

“You should tell me what to do,” Harry whispers. “You understand me better than I ever could.”

Healer Reismen smiles.

“You told me you felt protective towards this man, Draco. But you also told me he just became a free wizard again and he’s struggling with his newfound freedom, trying to take his place into the world once again. He must feel very alone.”

“He does. He seems weaker.”

“Are you searching for someone to save? Someone who needs your strength and care because they can’t provide for themselves?”

“No! I …” Harry presses his knuckles against his temples, it hurts a bit. “I don’t know. I only know it’s different with him.”

“Different how?”

“ _Terrifying_.”

The Healer nods, gets a little bit closer.

“I can say something about you, Harry.”

“What?”

“You’re a good man,” she simply replies. “And feelings are good, for whatever reason they exist. They need to be recognised though, otherwise they stay buried inside and damage us.”

Harry raises his chin, a single tear escaping from his eye. He hides his face immediately. Healer Reismen gets up from her chair, kneels next to her patient and touches his arm very gently.

“You can cry, Harry,” she whispers. “You can let it go and tell me what scares you so much or you just can cry. Either ways it’s good for me and I won’t betray your trust.”  
  
*

Harry finds him in the underpass, in the middle of a rainstorm. There’s melted snow on the sidewalk and the people somewhere are signing Christmas carols.

“Draco!” he calls him, soaking wet and breathless from the run.

Draco turns around, gloved hands tucked in his pockets, black coat floating in the wind. He wears a grey scarf, the colour of his eyes.

“Draco, stop!”

“I shouldn’t have come, I know that,” he admits. “You were clear about the fact that I’m not your job anymore, but I’m foolish and … it looks so warm were you are.”

Harry’s eyes widens, he steps closer to his former enemy.

“Where am I?”

“In your Potter-spot of the world, the place where you always were. The place where I could find you, even when locked in.”

Another step forward and another one.

“Did you often come to find me when you were in Azkaban?”

Draco shakes his head and looks around, panicked. Harry reaches for him, touches his face.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs. “Don’t be scared, Draco. I’m here.”

“I didn’t mean to … I had this fantasy and it was comforting.”

“What fantasy?”

“You and me, a warmer place.”

Harry drops his hand and Draco’s eyes widen in fears, as he takes a step back.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he mutters. “Forget I ever did,” he turns around, rushing toward the pavement.

That’s when Harry’s body finally snaps into action, anticipating his feverish mind that he’s working constantly on the memory of Draco’s arms holding his hips, the fire below them, his unexpected words.

“Malfoy, stop!” he runs, almost slipping on the frozen asphalt. “Stop!” he cries, grasping the other and forcing him to turn back to him.

“What now, Potter?”

Harry doesn’t reply with words, but with a kiss. A quick, forceful kiss, slightly awkward from its angle. He’s not sure his lips taste that good, he had a sandwich with onions at the office, and his nose bumps against Draco’s chin and his glasses are now completely foggy. But he kisses Draco and grabs him by the coat and closes his eyes.

“Take me there,” he says, lips still pressed against Draco’s. “Take me to your warmer place,” he pleads, raising his eyes without seeing, trusting Draco to understand.

He does. There’s a gloved hand pressed upon his cheek and another sneaking in the space between his arm and hip. He holds on it, getting closer, smiling blissfully when Draco kisses him again.

All around there are people singing carols and fireworks exploding in the sky. At some point it starts snowing again, but Harry doesn’t feel cold anymore.

 

 


End file.
